


Double Dog Dare

by fayegrove



Category: British Actor RPF, Magnus Martinsson - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: Autumn, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Orgasm, Fluff, Forest Sex, Lost Love, Oral Sex, Romance, Sweet, Vacation, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayegrove/pseuds/fayegrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While visiting your uncle in Sweden you stumble across the boy who, as young teenagers, had left behind a profound imprint on your heart. Only this boy is now a man, and the years have taken their toll on you both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Dog Dare

**Author's Note:**

> _"As he approaches the light from the tall lamps becomes less harsh on his features, his beautiful face more pronounced. You meet his eyes and feel a wall of shock nearly knock you off your feet."_
> 
> Also on [Tumblr](http://tomsdarling.tumblr.com/post/33982494836/double-dog-dare) and [FF](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8948440/1/Double-Dog-Dare).

Chilly though the night air is, you don’t mind in the slightest as you stride briskly down the side walk, hands buried deep in the front pockets of your pea coat. Autumn is fast approaching and this season is by far the one that you most anticipate the arrival of every year. Today was the first day that you’d had an excuse to break out your favorite knee-high boots and wear them over your thick burgundy tights; together with your black and purple floral dress and knitted cap, you’d felt thoroughly festive as you’d left your uncle’s house to go for an evening walk.

Initially your uncle had tried to convince you out of walking alone seeing as how night had already fallen, but you’d shrugged off his concern. “I’m an adult now, Uncle Peter. I can handle myself.” Then you’d held up the bottle of pepper spray you kept in your purse and he had laughed heartily, waving his hands and shooing you away genially.

Ystad, Sweden was a beautiful, quaint town with the sort of charm that just didn’t exist back home in America. When you were a little girl your parents had brought you over here to visit your aunt and uncle twice a year, for both the summer and winter holidays. Some of your favorite memories took place while staying in their picturesque old cottage, including one memorable summer when you were twelve and had encountered a local boy a few years your senior. While standing on a wooden bridge built over a creek, he had dared you to let him kiss you. Blushing like a fool you finally let him, and that had been your first kiss.

Smiling fondly at the memory, you bundle your coat more tightly around yourself and follow your feet wherever they lead, too entranced with the beautiful scenery to pay much mind to where you are headed. All around you the trees had lost the green of summertime and were now various shades of yellow and rusty orange, many leaves of which had already fallen to litter the roads. They crunched satisfyingly under your boots as you walked and, perhaps a bit childishly, you find yourself going out of your way to step on them.

As you move you past old buildings, many of which display business signs dating themselves as far back as the 1800s, you are struck by how much history was rooted in this town. Not for the first time the idea entered your mind to apply to university here in Sweden. Your uncle would love to have you stay with him, especially since your Aunt Nora had died a couple years back and left him alone, with no children or grandchildren to distract him. You, being his only living relative other than your parents and living on the other side of the world, had delighted him whenever you’d come to stay. This was the first year you had come by yourself, and he had already hinted more than once that you should uproot and attend university here.

The concept of moving abroad thrills you. After you’d graduated from high school you’d taken two years off to focus on doing whatever the hell you’d wanted to. You’d found a job as a sales associate at a clothing shop and used the funds to attend concerts, travel the American states with your friends, and save up for your own, clunky car. When your parents had protested and offered to get you a newer one you had flat out refused, insisting that you had to get one yourself. And despite the ugliness and worn down quality of the thing, you loved it to death because it was yours, bought and paid for with your own hard earned money. Even this trip was out of your own pocket, and buying the air fare from North Dakota to Sweden had wiped out most of your savings. Yet as you wander down the street, breathing in the cool night air and in awe of your surroundings, a plan cements in your mind. You would apply to Swedish colleges for the coming up term and see what happens. The amount for tuition would be astronomical, you know, but at least you could try and get as many scholarships as you could and take out as many loans as needed, but you would apply regardless of the hardship. At least you had a free place to stay with your uncle, whom you loved nearly as much as your own father.

Up ahead the sidewalk opens up into a large public park. You pause, nostalgia washing over you at the familiar sight. This was the same park you had visited as a girl, where that fateful meeting with the boy named Magnus had taken place. Laughing quietly to yourself you walk through the arched entrance and down the well-lit road, allowing the memories to stream before your mind like a roll of film.

Vividly you recall approaching the group of boys who had been playing basketball on the court and asking them how to get back to your uncle’s address. Most of them had laughed at your American accent and pretended not to speak English, but one of them—with blonde hair cut so close to his scalp that it was almost a buzz cut—tossed the basketball to his friends and approached you. He was tall and thin, with big blue eyes and cheeks that, at fourteen, had not quite lost the pudge of youth. You had shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nervous, but he smiled at you when he came near and held out his hand.

“Magnus Martinsson,” he offered with an English accent. “Come on, I’ll show you a shortcut.” And so, ignoring every word that your family had instilled in you to avoid trusting or going anywhere with strangers, you had hastened your stride to keep up with the pace his long legs set. “So where are you from?”

“Fargo, North Dakota. America,” you’d added awkwardly, not used to having to add that particular distinction. The boy had laughed.

“I know North Dakota is in America,” he had turned to smirk at you. “And your accent pretty much gives away that you’re American, anyway.”

“Sorry,” the apology came automatically, and the boy laughed again.

“Don’t be so tense, that’s what makes you stick out like a sore thumb as a tourist. Just act like you own the place and no one will look twice at you.”

Desperate to blend in on your bi-annual visits, you memorized the boy’s words and tucked them away in the back of your mind. There was a lengthy silence until you realized he’d led you to the edge of the park, where only a dirt path led directly into the heart of the woods. You’d paused then, uncertain. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“You can trust me,” the boy said earnestly, staring into your eyes. “I’m going to be a police officer; you’re safe while I’m around.” The note of pride in his voice brought an amused grin to your lips and you followed him down the path, your heart rate increasing slightly.

“So what brings you to Ystad?”

“My aunt and uncle live here, Peter and Nora Nilsson. We come and stay here every summer and Christmas holiday.”

“I just moved here myself, from London,” the boy adds rather smugly. “People tried to tease me but I don’t take that sort of thing lying down, and now everyone likes me.” This boy is borderline egotistical, you thought disparagingly as some of your father’s choice, most psychologist-oriented admonitions fluttered into your suddenly empty head. And cute, you admitted to yourself with a hint of a blush. By the time you had reached the bridge, dusk was setting and Magnus took a moment to lean against the wood and stare out at the creek.

“Do you have a boyfriend back home?” The words were so abrupt that, before you could even consider lying, the truth popped out of your lips.

“N-no?”

“Have you ever been kissed?” he asked as he removed his arms from the railing and turned to face you.

“No,” you whispered again, feeling faint.

“You should let me be your first, then,” he smirked as he took a few steps towards you. He was so much taller than you were.

“I really should be getting home,” you squeaked, unable to completely mask the panic underlying your words.

“I dare you,” he says suddenly, grinning impishly.

“They’re going to be so worried if I’m late—“

“I double dog dare you.”

Finally you stopped rambling and met his gaze head-on. He was smiling at you with the air of one certain he was already victorious in his goal which annoyed you but, on the other hand, no one else had asked you to kiss before. And if you were completely honest with yourself, Magnus was probably the cutest boy you had ever seen. After a few moments you took a deep breath, held it in until you couldn’t bear it anymore, and then exhaled slowly. You nodded your head.

Smiling with triumph, Magnus had leant over and pressed his lips to yours. The touch of skin against skin was in one way so familiar—after all you kissed your family on the mouth all the time—but so alien as to be nearly frightening. There was a whole world of possibilities lurking just out of sight behind that kiss, and the way he tilted his head so that his tongue could slip inside your mouth both revolted and enthralled you. Then, just as suddenly, the kiss was broken.

“And now you’ve been kissed,” he smiled wickedly down at you. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Neither of you spoke a word the rest of the way to your aunt and uncle’s house. True to his promise he had gotten you there safely and before the sun had fully set so that when your parents and aunt and uncle rushed out of the house to meet you in the walk way, they appeared worried but not panicked.

“Where have you been?” your mother asked, pulling you into an embrace so tight you could hardly breathe.

“I got lost,” you gasped, gently disentangling yourself from her arms. “Magnus brought me home.” Silently you prayed that your cheeks did not betray the rest of the matter to your family. They all turned to face Magnus who stood erect by the kissing gate, his hands clasped formally behind his back. He looked quite elegant and you felt butterflies burst into life in your belly as you remembered his lips against yours on that wooden bridge.

“Thank you, son,” your father had said, offering his hand. Magnus shook it, and then your uncle’s proffered one as well. “Is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

“No, sir,” Magnus said, smiling innocently up at your family. “Escorting her home was favor enough,” he said in a polite tone, his eyes finding yours rather wickedly and igniting a wildfire beneath your cheeks. Then he’d turned and left, and your eyes followed him all the way down the road until he’d turned a corner, disappearing from view. In all of your return visits to Ystad, you had never seen him again, despite repeated inquiries to your aunt and uncle.

Lost in reminiscing, you had not noticed until you reached the place that your legs had carried you in the direction of the basketball court. With a jolt you realize that there was someone underneath the fluorescent lights, shooting hoops. Though you know that your thoughts are safely inside your head and no one could hear them but you, you are still slightly embarrassed as you walk slowly along the path parallel to the court. Mildly curious as to who would wear gym shorts and a grey heather shirt in such chilly weather, playing basketball by himself, you inspect the back of him as you walk slowly by the edge.

The man was tall, with a lean build and a mop of curly blonde hair. You watch quietly as he shoots the ball and it lands neatly in the net, then runs over to grab the bouncing ball before it rolls away into the woods. On his way back to your end of the court he sees you watching him and hesitates, giving you a full view of him from the front. The sheer attractiveness, noticeable even from afar, of the man who now watches you so intently brings a burn to your face and you pause mid-stride, unsure of what to do.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” you say awkwardly, hoping to break the silence. When your words reach where he stands the man’s face changes subtly and he walks towards you. As he approaches the light from the tall lamps becomes less harsh on his features, his beautiful face more pronounced. You meet his eyes and feel a wall of shock nearly knock you off your feet.

Magnus.

Breathlessly you watch him as he comes to stand directly in front of you, the basketball tucked between his arm and hip and his grey heather shirt damp with sweat. He was still much taller than you, with your head reaching eye level to his shoulders. Having the thick curls instead of the buzz cut did wonders for his handsomeness and, when you finally find yourself making direct eye contact, his blue irises boring into your own brown ones make you shiver slightly. You pull your coat around you, feigning a chill to mask the reaction.

“It is you,” he murmurs, smiling in awed disbelief. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he laughs. The way he spoke is familiar, but over time his voice had deepened and lost the proud edge. Instead you could hear a profound sadness behind his carefree words, and wondered what had happened to so thoroughly take the confidence out of someone.

“Magnus?” you ask uncertainly. He nods, and you burst into laughter. “I was just thinking about you!” you exclaim with surprised glee. Immediately you regret the admission, embarrassed, but he merely beams down at you fondly.

“I’ll be damned, you certainly did grow up,” he jokes, his eyes briefly taking in your physique.

“So did you,” you retort, refusing to let yours do the same. His eyes find yours again and he grins shyly at you. Magnus, the boy who had dared me to let him be my first kiss, shy? you wonder, baffled. When you realize that polite conduct would have been either to excuse yourself and go home or continue the conversation, you immediately latch onto the latter option. “I went for a walk and sort of, err, don’t know how I got here,” you admit ruefully. “Maybe you could show me that shortcut home again?”

Laughing, Magnus looks down at the ground for a second and then nods, lifting his head again so as to meet your gaze. “Of course,” he says, looking a bit like his younger, smug self. He turns and begins walking down the path, slowing his stride so that you can keep up.

“Have you lived here this whole time? We haven’t met since that summer when…” not quite brave enough to finish the sentence, you change tact. “I mean I’ve still come every year but I’ve not seen you.”

“My family moved back to England that year. I came back when I was eighteen to join the police force here.”

“So you actually became a police officer?” you ask, awed.

“Just made detective this year,” he says with a sly grin down at you.

“Wow,” is all you can think to say. Suddenly your taking off two years to be wild seems quite childish indeed. “That’s incredible.”

Magnus laughs, motioning for you to follow him from the main path and towards the dirt one that began at the edge of the forest line. “I worked hard for it,” he admits as they pass through the trees. Immediately the world goes inky black. Were it not for the patches of moonlight streaming through breaks in the forest canopy you would not have been able to make out where you were going. Unused to being alone in woods at night, you attempt to move as inconspicuously as you can to Magnus’s side. You notice him grin as your arm suddenly begins to bump against his a lot, but he says nothing as he leads the way down the narrow dirt path. “And what about you?” he asks suddenly, his voice low.

“Oh, um, well I graduated from high school and took two years off to… unwind,” you choose the word carefully. “I’m going to college next fall term, though.”

“Do you know what college?”

“I’m actually thinking of taking up my uncle’s advice and applying to one here in Sweden,” you say rather sheepishly. Magnus turns his head towards you suddenly, watching you closely in the dim light.

“Really?” there is a hint of excitement to his voice and you feel your face burning at the intensity of his gaze, exceedingly grateful he would not be able to see.

“Well I have always loved coming here. There is so much culture and history in Sweden that’s not in America.” And you are here, you silently add, surprising yourself even as you realize it was true. Every year you had been excited to come back to Sweden, only to be disappointed to not find him anywhere. Each season had the same build-up of anticipation and release as your wild hope never came to fruition.

You had reached the wooden bridge. Just like before he leans against the railing, only this time he is so tall that he has to hunch over somewhat just to rest his elbows on the wood. You lean against the railing beside him, captivated by the beauty of moonlight twinkling on the surface of water that babbled gently over the rocks. The hairs rise on the back of your neck and you turn your eyes back to Magnus, only to find that he is gazing at you with a rather familiar smirk.

“Do you have a boyfriend back home?” he asks, the smirk spreading on his face. You burst into laughter, and he tilts his head, watching you. “What’s so funny?”

“I doubt you remember, but you said the same exact thing in that same exact spot the last time we met.”

“I do remember,” he says quietly. Something in his tone knocks the wind out of your lungs and you grip the banister to keep yourself steady.

“Not anymore,” you reply, the laughter fading from your tone.

“What happened?”

Was he really asking you about your love life? “We just didn’t get along well anymore, and I wasn’t satisfied with the relationship.”

“Satisfied?” he repeats, his lips twitching. Voice catching in your throat, you clench desperately at the wood under your nails. That is not what you had meant to say, and yet you could not bring yourself to deny the assumption, either. Not when you remembered only too clearly how often your ex had lasted only a few minutes before rolling away from you, leaving to take a piss, eat a sandwich, or whatever else he’d felt like doing rather than you. Moodily you kicked the bridge, and Magnus’s voice had lost its humor when he again spoke. “Do you still love him?”

“No,” you reply adamantly. No, you had never loved him, not truly. But he had been your first and, aside from a disastrous hook up at a concert once in your break from school, the only man you had ever been with. “I just feel like I wasted two years of my life on someone who wasn’t worth it.”

“Mmm.”

You look over at Magnus, watching his face as he studies the stream. “And you? Do you have someone in your life?”

“Not anymore,” he mirrors your words. “She left me after deciding I’d put my work before her for too long.”

“Did you?”

A muscle works in Magnus’s jaw and, when he finally turns to gaze at you, the sadness had settled on his features once more. “Yes. I guess I’ve never loved anyone, either,” he says, straightening. With his height he towers over you, and your ensuing shiver has little to do with the autumn night air. “You say you’ve never been satisfied. In how many different ways is that true?”

Oh, god.

“Well, I… I mean I wouldn’t say that—“ words are failing you and you know it, but his eyes remain fastened upon your face. “I think you can guess the different ways,” you finally say with supreme embarrassment.

“He never made you come?” Magnus’s voice is deep, the flow of his words from his tongue making your breaths come in short gasps. You giggle a little hysterically.

“I—I don’t know.”

Magnus throws his head back in laughter, his eyes twinkling when they finally find yours again in the darkness. “You’d know if he had, believe me. How sad that a beautiful woman like you has never had an orgasm.”

“I have so!” you say a bit more defensively than you’d intended. “By myself,” you add with a hint of shame. To your surprise he does not seem at all disturbed or surprised by this admission, but his grin does take on a rather more satisfied tone.

“Getting yourself off doesn’t count,” he murmurs, moving to step closely towards you. “Nothing compares to giving your body to someone else and letting them give you that release.” He is standing far, far too close to you now.

“You’ve had much practice, then?” you say, grasping on the first words that come to mind so as to not appear quite so affected by his nearness.

“I’ve had my share,” he says dismissively, his face leaning towards you as his voice drops to a whisper. “You should let me be the first.”

Your knees nearly give out and you grip onto the railing of the bridge to steady yourself. Even bundled up in your pea coat you notice that you are shivering uncontrollably. “It’s getting late,” the words come out in a half-hearted protest.

“I dare you,” he says, grinning at the effect he is having on you. The irony of the situation is not lost on you and you remember only too well feeling much the same emotions that warm, summer’s day on this same bridge eight years prior.

“Magnus—“ you try to argue weakly, his name rolling off of your tongue with what, even to your own ears, was unmistakably suppressed longing.

“I double dog dare you,” he says in your ear, the seductive tone quite abruptly lost when he laughs, and then you are both laughing together. His smile brings life to his face and, in that moment, you can see traces of the boy who had been your first kiss on this same bridge that day, so long ago and yet so clearly standing out amongst your other memories that it might have happened just yesterday. Some, small part of you hisses that you do not know this man, what kind of person considers having sex with someone they don’t know? Then you realize you had done this once before at that concert—but remember the fumbling, awkward mess that had been?

Looking into Magnus’s eyes, though, was enough to stamp those doubts out of your mind. “You can try,” you finally say, sounding so unlike yourself that your eyes widen in surprise. He chuckles and pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours.

No kiss had ever been like this. Your ex had a horrible preference for shoving his tongue so deeply into your mouth that you nearly gagged, so you’d not often let him kiss you for any lengthy period of time. Magnus’s lips were gentle and patient, exploring you with an intimacy that startled you. The sensation was so new that you felt, for the first time since you were eighteen, a virginal fear trickle down your spine. He takes you by the hand and leads you off of the bridge to an open, grassy spot alongside the brook and sits down, tugging your hand gently until you kneel down next to him.

This time when he kisses you, you respond with growing urgency. Lust is unfamiliar to you, having only ever connected sex with what was necessary or expected. A churning in the pit of your stomach fans this newfound flame as you settle yourself onto his lap, hands gliding up the back of his neck to lace into his soft curls. He smells faintly of cologne mixed with sweat, and the impact of this scent on your libido is overwhelming; you groan as you press your thighs against his lap, feeling him stiffening beneath you. His lips find yours in small, swift pecks even as you felt his hardness pressing into the thin tights blocking you from fully experiencing him. Hastily you pull off your boots and reach under your dress with trembling fingers.

Magnus grips onto your wrists suddenly and where his fingers touch your skin you feel invisible burn marks; you know that you will forever remember this moment, the first time where you felt a thrill of terror mingled with desire. Steady hands slide up under your dress and he hooks his fingers into the waistline of your tights, sliding them down with your panties along your legs until you are left kneeling over his lap, naked from the waist down and shuddering when the drafty air brushes against your bare flesh. Smirking, he brushes one finger against your moistened folds.

Little bolts of lightning radiate from deep in the base of your abdomen, reaching to the very tips of your fingers and toes as he begins to stroke in long, gentle sweeps, smearing the dampness over your swelling lips. “Lay down,” he whispers. You comply, though with sudden shyness you close your legs, not wanting him to see you naked. Undeterred he raises himself to his knees and leans against your legs, his hands resting on your knee caps. “Are we going to do this the hard way?” he asks, one eyebrow arched.

A delicious, tantalizing urge sweeps over you and you squeeze your legs more tightly together. “I’m not going to just give it up, you’ll have to work for it,” you answer slyly.

Sighing with mock exasperation, you feel Magnus grip onto your knees and begin to pry them open. You struggle with all of your strength to keep them together but to no avail; he overpowers you in an instant and a burning desire ignites under your skin, inhibiting your breathing. His reward is immediate as he lowers himself onto you, the thick, curved hardness hiding beneath his gym shorts pressing into your heat. When he begins to roll his hips against yours, you cry out in pleasure and find yourself reaching for the material at his waist. He stops you yet again, his hands on your wrists.

“Not yet,” he murmurs in your ear and you shudder as he pins your arms onto the ground above your head with one hand. He continues to roll his hips against yours, slowly but with great pressure until your eyes close and you are writhing beneath him, desperately meeting his movements with little half-thrusts of your own. When you will yourself to open your eyes again you can see the excitement in his, and realize that he is not going to make this quick like you are used to.

“Magnus,” you begin throatily but he presses the index finger of his free hand to your lips, hushing you. Then he unfastens your pea coat, one button at a time. Even through the thick wool his fingers brushing against your breasts increase your need and you drop your head to the grass, moaning, when he finally opens the coat and runs his fingers over the silky material of your dress. When he lets go of your hands you lift your head slightly, only to see him unhooking the miniscule buttons on the bust of your dress so that the navy blue bra underneath was showing. His mischievous eyes find yours and with a start you remember that you had, on a whim, chosen the one bra you owned that snaps in the front. With the joy of one anticipating unwrapping a present, Magnus unhooks the cups and flips them over so that he has an unimpeded view of your chest.

The cold air has an immediate, noticeable effect on you and he laughs huskily before lowering his face to your breasts. You know a moment of exquisite anticipation before his lips envelop the nipple of your right breast, his other hand moving to squeeze and pinch the nipple of your left. You cry out, your hands finding their way to the grassy earth on your sides as you dig into the dirt with your nails, gasping for air. His mouth, firmly latched onto your breast, teases and flicks the erect nipple with his tongue even as the other pinches and you can feel a searing heat pooling between your legs, soaking his black gym shorts. Noticing this, Magnus lifts his head slightly and stares up at you, giving him the aura of an animal closing in on its prey; the sight makes you tremble.

One hand begins to trail slowly down, from your tender nipples, across your ribs and concave belly, before finally coming to rest atop the patch of brown hair between your legs. His eyes lock on yours as he presses a single finger against you and drags it down so that it disappears between your thighs. Up and down, so slowly that you can’t bear the hunger for more and yet never want it to end as he moves ever closer to the little mound of sensitive nerves, rubbing it lightly before sliding back down your opening once more.

“Please,” you gasp, unable to take it any longer. “Magnus, please—“

His lips press against yours, effectively silencing your protests as you buck your hips desperately against his hand. The kiss is broken only when he grins suddenly and, with agonizing slowness, his finger pushes into your welcoming heat. You both groan, but you are the most vocal as his long finger slides in and out of you, testing your boundaries and finding the little place deep inside that makes you whimper in ecstasy when his finger rubs against it. When he removes his finger fully you open your mouth to beg him to continue, but he immediately plunges back into you with two fingers this time, stretching you even farther. You cry out, your hands reaching up to cling desperately to his shoulders as his hand knuckles hit your tender folds every time his fingers plummet inside of you.

“I can’t,” you gasp, your back arching as an agonizing heat begins to spread across your entire body, “please, Magnus—“ You can’t bear the thought of him not taking you. Your entire body aches with longing for completion, but you want it from what he’s concealing in his shorts, not his hands.

Magnus slides his fingers out of you, holding up the dripping appendages so that you could see. His eyes bore into yours and you feel a fresh wave of lust roll over you as his other hand slides his gym shorts down, letting them fall to his knees. In your haze of desire you can see him fully erect, and by far larger than you had any expectation of. Trepidation mingles with need as he uses your juices to lubricate his shaft, his gaze and yours remaining unbroken and full of unspoken words. You watch as if from outside your body as he places one hand firmly on your hip and the other holds onto the head of his cock, pushing it slowly inside of your inflamed tightness.

You cry out loudly at the sudden pain when Magnus burrows himself inside of you, reaching a depth you could never have imagined possible. His girth stretches you to what feels like beyond your limits but the pain is thrilling and, even as your body fights to adjust to his sheer size, your writhe beneath him in pleasure. “Oh god, oh god,” you chant, your teeth gnashing together .

He maintains a slow rhythm, gauging the inflection of your yelps and moans. He presses his cheek to yours and you can feel the muscles under his tee shirt moving against your stomach with every thrust, which sends goose bumps erupting across your skin. After a few minutes your body adjusts to the penetration and you roll your hips tentatively to meet a thrust, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat. He rests himself against your chest, his elbows on the grass surrounding you supporting most of his weight. You stare up into his face, drinking in the way his curls frame it and his blue eyes that widen in amazement every time he makes you gasp or moan. Your gaze remains unbroken even as his thrusts accelerate, pounding into your tilted hips with such strength you feel yourself being slid backwards on the grass each time. Planting your feet and hands firmly onto the ground to keep yourself steady, you meet each of his drives solidly, and with each joining you both moan in bliss.

“Have you ever ridden a man before?” he whispers in your ear suddenly, and you clench his shaft tightly at the sound of his voice; he groans, his arms supporting him wobbling for the briefest of moments.

“No,” you answer nervously. In an instant Magnus has gripped onto your hips and, your bodies still joined, rolled over so that he is on his back and you are sitting on his lap, his shaft suddenly reaching a new angle inside of you. You moan at the slight pain of it and struggle to readjust yourself, finally finding a position where your hips are angled slightly and your back is curved, all the while with Magnus grinning up at you. He places his hands on your hips, guiding you gently into a rolling motion.

The sensation brings about an explosion of a new sort of pleasure. You stare down into his eyes, surprised but not as embarrassed as you might have thought you’d be to have him watching you from such an unflattering angle. His eyes are swimming with desire and, once you had found a rhythm that you enjoyed, he lets his hands move to your breasts, cupping them in his palms as he stares up at you, overwhelmed. There was a power that began to bloom inside of you from seeing him lying on his back and giving himself over to you completely. When you accidentally roll farther forward than you had meant to, he arches his back with a small gasp. Suddenly devious, you repeat the motion and he groans; you can feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You would have been lying if you’d said that you didn’t feel desirable in this moment, with Magnus bucking his hips into you with dire need, yet having to bend to your will much in the same way you had to his. Soon you have him panting, his hands moving from your breasts back to your hips as you grip him tightly between your thighs and grind your pelvis into his instinctively. Both of you cry out at the sensations that your action evokes and you began to ride him in earnest. His bare shaft was rubbing against your raw insides with such friction that the pain felt like sparks of heat igniting every time you took him deep. Even so you felt a tension balling around where his cock was burrowed inside of you, the repetition of him plunging into your walls driving you nearly to madness when you feel him tense beneath you. He clutches your hips and groans luxuriously, spurting his seed inside of you and shuddering under your still rolling hips. You ride him gently as he falls back to the ground, staring up at you with undisguised awe and longing. Only then did you cease your movement, the ache of physical deprivation a familiar one—albeit never one that you had ever come so close to satisfying before.

“I told you s—“

In a flash you are pinned to your back, Magnus’s hands spreading your legs wide and his face disappearing between your thighs. Instinctively you try to fend him off but he would not budge, his tongue lapping between your swollen folds greedily. Never before had a man gone down on you, and it was more the embarrassment of having his face so close to an area not normally so readily exposed than from any sort of dislike of the physical sensations that you rolled beneath Magnus uncomfortably, propping yourself up on your elbows. He lifts his head to gaze up at you and, with a stab of both humiliation and a queer sort of thrill, you saw your own moisture glistening on his lips.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, and you collapse onto your back, closing your eyes and relaxing your hips. His tongue traces up and down your lips and, soon enough, you find yourself struggling for air as he focuses on the tender mound above your entrance. He licks, sucks, and even rubs his teeth against it until your hands shoot out to grip into his curls, barely audible gasps escaping your mouth every time his tongue slips tantalizingly inside of you. The tension is rapidly rebuilding and you find yourself bucking your hips, aching for more of him, and he complies by sliding his two fingers inside of you once more.

A primal groan escapes your throat as his fingers begin to glide with agonizing friction across that spot inside of you that, until tonight, you had never even known was there. His tongue focuses on the little pink nub as his fingers pummel into you and your tension continues to climb until your back is arching off of the ground. Magnus’s free hand clenches onto your backside and supports your weight as you lift your hips instinctively so that his fingers can more easily grind against that inflamed spot. In a moment of glorious release you feel your entire body erupt in waves of shock and ecstasy, your hips bucking against his lips and your insides clenching desperately at his fingers for what seems to last for hours until finally, exhausted, your weight falls back into his hand and he lowers you gently to the ground.

When your eyes open once more, Magnus is hovering over you in a pushup position, his hands on either side of his face. He is grinning but there is no pride or triumph in the smile, just genuine affection. “Looks like I won the bet,” he says cheerfully.

You burst into embarrassed laughter, hiding your face behind your dirty hands. Magnus sits up so that your legs are between his knees and he can easily grasp your hands to pull them away from your face. “No blushes!” he laughs as your eyes stubbornly search for anything to stare at that wasn’t him. Abruptly he leans over and kisses you and, to your utter shock, the touch reawakens the same aching need that had just moments ago been sated. When he breaks away again, watching your face, he grins expectantly.

“Alright, I concede defeat,” you say with the air of one being forced to eat a lemon. He laughs and gets to his feet, offering you his hands. He easily yanks you up, your entire body leaving the ground in a small jump that dizzies you when you finally land back on your feet. You redress yourself, watching him with curiosity as he pulls up his own gym shorts and brushes the dirt and leaves from his clothes.

“Here,” he says suddenly, looping around you and brushing off all of the debris from your own clothes and hair while you pull on your panties, stockings and boots. “And you might as well wash your hands in the stream before heading back to your uncle’s, lest he should wonder why they are covered in dirt,” he says with a cocky grin. Glaring good-naturedly at him, you kneel down to rinse off your hands in the icy water before standing up and glancing at the bridge.

“I really should get back before he worries himself sick,” you say apologetically. Truly you didn’t want to have to say goodbye to Magnus, you realize sadly as you both set off across the bridge and down the remainder of the dirt path. Perhaps most surprising to you is that conversation comes so easily with him after something so intimate, so personal that had just happened between the two of you. As you walk you like to imagine that you can almost feel him inside of you still, filling you.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Magnus says suddenly as you turn down the corner of your uncle’s street.

“What is?” you ask, confused at the change of direction from where your thoughts had been.

“For you to go to college here in Sweden,” he says, turning his face to look at you with a truly happy smile spreading his lips. You look down at your hands, suddenly shy as you realize what he is hinting at. To your surprise he reaches out his hand and grasps one of yours, letting it swing down by your side. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t feel that back there.”

“Feel what?” you ask, knowing full well what he was getting at but too terrified that you might be mistaken to admit it aloud. Magnus stops suddenly, tugging you back towards him by your linked hands.

“When we were together in the woods back there there was a spark I’ve never felt with anyone else. When I was inside of you,” you blush at his words and try to look away but his other hand reaches up and cups your chin, keeping your face level with his own, “I felt connected to you. And I know you felt the same; I could see it in your eyes. Look me in the eye, tell me that you didn’t and I’ll let the subject drop.”

After a few seconds you lift your gaze to meet his and become devastatingly aware of how vulnerable you are in that moment. His eyes search yours for an answer and, remembering all too well how you had felt when he’d taken you on the forest floor, the unspoken thoughts that had passed between the two of your as your bodies lay joined, you know that you can not deny his words. Slowly you nod your head. A true smile lights up his face and he leans over to kiss your forehead before resuming the short walk to your uncle’s house.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks suddenly, and you cannot stop the glow of heat spreading across your skin at what you know to be coming.

“My uncle wanted to spend the day watching TV, but I’m sure I could convince him to let me go out if he knows I plan to move in here for college.”

The meaning of your words take a moment to dawn on Magnus and, when they do, he laughs happily and pulls you into his arms. “I’ll come pick you up at noon tomorrow. We’re going to a movie and then lunch. Though I should say…”

“What?” you ask, bewildered, when you reach the kissing gate of your uncle’s property.

“I’d advise you not to wear an outfit like this one again, unless you hope to be ravished against a building or someth—“ he stops abruptly, dissolving into laughter as your hands lash out at him and smack him all over his chest and arms, yourself nearly crying from laughing so hard. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay scratch that, wear what you like,” he amends as stoically as he can with twitching lips.

“Good night, Magnus,” you say with feigned stiffness as you walk up the path to your uncle’s door.

“Good night,” he murmurs tenderly from behind you, and you feel a pleasant flush creep up your neck and into your face as you turn to wave goodbye before opening and closing the front door behind you. Leaning against the inside you exhale loudly, eyes closed as a rather dreamy smile spreads across your face.

“Sweetheart! That was a mighty long walk, are you okay?” your uncle asks from his favorite arm chair, making you jolt as you see him placing his newspaper on his lap and peering over his glasses at you.

“I’m sorry, I, um, took a detour through the park,” you only half-lie, hanging your pea coat up on the rack. “Uncle Peter, I think I’d like to attend college out here.”

“Oh honey, that’s great news! What made you decide?”

You pause, gazing fondly at your uncle and wondering how you could possibly explain. Finally, carefully choosing your words, you say, “I’ve always looked forward to coming to Ystad. I think this time I really fell in love,” you manage with a smile. Your uncle grins at you and shakes out the paper so that it’s covering his face.

“That’s good to hear, honey.” You sigh, relieved that nothing awkward had been revealed and was half way up the stairs before his voice called out with the merest trace of suppressed laughter, “and tell that Magnus fellow I said hi!”

Eyes shut with embarrassment, you close the door and fall onto your bed, turning to stare out the window. Of course Uncle Peter would have had an inkling of why you’d always been so excited to visit; you’d only asked about Magnus every time you’d come for the first few years after that summer. Even when you’d stopped asking your eyes had searched him out where you went. You were surprised to find that the mortification of being found out was superficial, and was quite glad that your uncle seemed to approve of Magnus, at least. Smiling to yourself you pull off all of your clothes and crawl naked under your blankets, eyes focused on the moon visible from your window.

No one had ever touched you as Magnus had tonight, neither physically nor emotionally. The opportunities this unexpected door opened to you were frightening and exciting all at once and, sighing contentedly, you hug your pillow tightly and allow your mind to wander. Imagining Magnus inside of you, kissing and touching you, bringing you to satisfaction, all the while his eyes locked upon yours... Shivering slightly, you bury your face in the pillow with a smile, anticipating the next day and what might unfold until you finally drift off to sleep.


End file.
